


Nice World

by MariaPriest



Series: S&H Blue Stamps - S1 [7]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e07 Death Notice, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 20:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Starsky and Hutch are more deeply affected by the deaths of Ginger and Sonja than they expected.





	Nice World

Hutch was regretting asking Starsky to agree to throwing a party to celebrate with Huggy and the new friends they'd made after closing their latest homicide case. What was happening in the main room of his cottage was the opposite of “party.” _More like an interment_, he thought.

A few words in a heavy Hungarian accent dragged Hutch out of his head. “Sorry, Anton. My mind wandered. Could you repeat that?”

Anton nodded. “I am almost ready to put the, the, um, final touches upon the stew. Are _you_ ready, Hutch?” 

Hutch thinned his lips into a partial smile. He really did want to learn how to make the delectable-smelling dish, yet in the last few minutes, his mind had switched back to the failing “celebration.” “Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm listening.” He gave Anton an eager nod.

A split second later, he was remembering Ginger's apartment, which he and a still-dripping Starsky had searched for any clues that might reveal the killer or a motive. Both knew they'd likely find nothing related to the murder, and they were right. Instead, they had found out about the stripper.

ooOOoo

Everything was in vibrant colors, and that included the Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein posters on the walls. All the furniture appeared to be second-hand but in good condition. Books and framed photographs jammed the cinder-block-and-particle-board shelves. Ginger's place was definitely a home. Starsky's “Nice world, huh?” that had been laced with pessimism and sarcasm when Hutch had told him about the cause of death reintroduced itself into Hutch's consciousness and played like a stuck record.

After flipping through a couple of magazines on the side table, Hutch joined Starsky at the shelving. “Whatcha looking at, Starsk?” He allowed a touch of gloom to infect his question, knew that Starsky felt the same just by his tight back, arms across his chest, bowed head. Hutch rested his chin lightly on Starsky's shoulder close enough for them to be cheek to cheek and hooked his hand on Starsky's other shoulder.

Starsky sighed and patted Hutch's hand a few times. “Pictures. Nice-lookin' people.”

“That one in the middle, second row. Gotta be family.”

“Yeah, they do look alike.” From the movement of Starsky's face, Hutch knew Starsky's mouth had quirked up. “Back home, we called folks from the south 'cornpone people,' with their funny accents-”

“That's calling the kettle black,” Hutch interjected. “And don't say anything like that around Sweet Alice.”

Starsky snickered before continuing, “-and their wide-eyed wonder of big-city life. Look where it got her.”

They were silent for few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts, until Hutch let out a loud exhale filled with the funk he was feeling and sharing with Starsky about Ginger's death.

“Ginger was a really nice girl.”

Starsky nodded. “A real sweetheart. She didn't deserve to be in a world like this, like we live in.”

Hutch rubbed Starsky's back. “Nobody does, partner. Come on, let's wait for the crime scene guys outside. Maybe they'll let you have one of their towels so you can at least dry your gun.”

ooOOoo

Searching Sonja's place after her murder had only deepened their funk. Though the partners grieved every victim's death, Ginger and Sonja's deaths had thrown them for a loop for some reason they hadn't—or couldn't—voice yet. Regardless, they had to get past it, or their reaction could set a dangerous precedence and shortening their careers—or maybe their lives. Too many cops already ate bullets.

_ Gotta do something about this... party and especially me and Starsky. But what? _

Hutch laughed through his nose softly when he realized how simple that “something” was.

“Anton, can you fill me in on the rest later? There's _something_ I have to do.”

The immigrant showed his crooked teeth in a happy smile. “Of course!”

Hutch nodded his thanks and headed for the main room. The atmosphere there was so dismal that it threatened to bring him down further.

He immediately caught Starsky's eyes, lifted an eyebrow a few millimeters. The tiny tilt forward told him message received.

“'Scuse me, Manny. Hutch needs me.” Starsky patted the arm of the much taller man and walked toward Hutch.

Hutch sucked in his lips, an old childhood habit, now rarely used, that signaled analysis mode. Right now, Starsky's walk was subdued, lacking its distinctive spring, and his demeanor screamed melancholy and a little detachment—at least to Hutch and probably Huggy Bear.

“What's up, partner?”

Hutch nodded a few times, hoping that would guarantee Starsky would agree to execute his plan, as he said, “I feel like singing a few songs and playing the guitar. You up for joining me?”

Starsky's brow crinkled. “Are you okay? I mean, there are _people_ here.”

Hutch chuckled. “Aren't you the one always pushing me to play at clubs on open-mic nights?”

“Yeah, well...”

“I can do this with _you_. Baby step”—he pointed to himself—”training wheels”—he pointed to Starsky. Then Hutch fixed him with a pleading puppy-dog look.

Starsky shrugged. “I thought mixin' metaphors was my job.” A brief hesitation, then a tepid “Okay.”

A few minutes later, Hutch's guitar was tuned and he was sitting on the arm of a chair. Starsky had planted himself on the sofa.

“Huggy, do me a favor, would you?” Hutch asked. “Turn off the radio?”

“If it means I get to hear you play and sing, consider it done.” He stopped just as he was about to twist the knob. “Does this mean Starsky is gonna sing, too?”

Hutch nodded with enthusiasm; Starsky lifted one shoulder and one side of his mouth.

“Well,” Huggy continued, “I won't let that fact stop this little impromptu concerto.” He snapped the radio off and turned to Hutch. “Maestro, the airwaves are yours.”

“Thanks, Hug.” He arched his eyebrows at Starsky as he strummed the first few chords of their favorite song to sing together.

Starsky grinned, wider than he had in days, much to Hutch's relief and joy.

By the time they were into the second boisterous chorus of _Black Bean Soup_, their guests were smiling and laughing and dancing, just like Starsky's eyes.

Hutch was pretty sure his eyes were mirroring his best friend's.

S&HBS

After drinking to Anton's beautiful and heartfelt toast, Hutch leaned into Starsky and whispered with genuine optimism in his ear, “Nice world, huh?”

Starsky replied with a brighter smile.

the end

August 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Please be kind and let me know if something's horribly amiss.


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